


Soon, the World Will Be Dark

by elyus



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King, Westworld (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Dark Tower, Dark Tower Lore, Implied Relationships, Mild Gore, Multi, Paranoia, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyus/pseuds/elyus
Summary: He was the first to see the approaching figures on the horizon, their shadows shimmering in the feverish sun.AU where Sombra is the parent company of Delos, and the Maze is the Tower.In the twilight of the world, Teddy Flood descends into madness.





	Soon, the World Will Be Dark

“First comes smiles, then comes lies. Last is gunfire.”

Stephen King, _Wolves of the Calla_

 

It was exactly two moons ago when the strangers rode into town. 

Night fell swiftly in this part of the world. Shades swept down like a benediction upon the scorched earth. The heat, which weighed like a tomb, began to lift. Suddenly, there was the rustling of the first wind. It was twilight when the riders appeared. He was the first to see the approaching figures on the horizon, their shadows shimmering in the feverish sun.

For a moment, he had wondered whether they were mirages. It had been ten years since the last travelers arrived, perhaps even longer. Time did not work liked it used to. Traders, they said they were, and their mouths curled as they tapped their holsters. Then came laughter, and their teeth bared. When he dropped his smoking gun onto the bar, they laughed no more. And that had been the last of the travelers.

The world had moved on since then.

His instinct told him to reach for his guns, and then he called for the remaining men. Behind the veils of darkened windows, a few dozen eyes gleamed with fear. In their minds eye, they saw their walls consumed by fire, and the dust soaked red with blood.

He waited until he heard the laughter.

It was the voice of a woman.

Now, two moons had passed since the riders came and went. The watch hung around his neck in silver chain like a token. Like most keepers of time, it was broken. It was older than all the relics he had come across over the years. The metal was corroded by time and weather, but when he gently rubbed the back of the plate, he could make out the letter. He didn’t know what it meant, but still the pendant clung to the skin of his chest. It was a gift from the strange woman. 

There had been two travelers, though in the red heat of the setting sun there seemed more. He thought he had seen four of them, riding side by side in the desert, but it was just a trick of the light that made them double.

The woman was dressed in faded white, with her hair in braids. The man was sandy-blonde and wore a black knife around the belt of his guns. Both were young, and well spoken.

They spoke to him in the High Speech.

He didn’t think that there were still Gunslingers in this fading world.

Some of the older men had dropped to their knees. Some wept as if they were children. He did not kneel, but when the woman descended from her horse, he took a step back cautiously. In a world of withering men, there was life blooming in her. Life and some other, unknown power.

She had laughed when he moved away. The same haunting laughter he heard in the distance, and for a split second, he thought he had caught a glimpse of the double, the shadow. Then it was gone, and before he could object, she put his hands in hers.

“Thankee-sai,” she said. “For letting me and my companion stay.”

When she let go of his fingers, he had unwittingly smiled. She smiled in return, and it was a thing of radiance (but in the brightness of the smile, he could see the shadow still).

Dolores, she said her name was, from a language that was dead and gone long before the world of the Great Old Ones collapsed into the dust. Sorrow it meant. Our Lady of the Sorrows.

The young man, who remained silent for much of the stay, was called William. The man’s silence had made him uneasy, for he did not strike him as a quiet type. Once in a while, William’s eyes drifted towards the west, where the outline of the distant mountains were etched by the dying light. There was something heavy on his mind.

When they walked towards the saloon, the young man seemed to have caught sight of something on the horizon. His face turned pale and he pointed to the dunes wavering in the heat.

“Looks like a thinny,” he said.

The woman nodded slightly.

“What’s a sinny?” He asked.

William looked at him with worried blue eyes. “They are points in the fabric of reality that have been worn thin. See where the sand dunes are flickering. If you go near you can just about touch the other side, but you don’t want to do that.”

“They’re just heat shimmers,” he laughed.

“No. I can almost hear it. The howling sound.” 

“That’s just the wind.”

“You don’t understand,” the young man shook his head, and spoke no more.

But his mind was already elsewhere, because the woman had started to hum a tune. She seemed unfazed by the quivering sand, and a gentle smile formed on her lips. In the waning light, her braids shone golden. He found himself faltering, just so he could see her glimmering outline, and he felt a warmth rise from within. But then he saw the doubles, trailing behind the two figures, pretending to be merely shadows. The warmth fled, the wind snatched her song, and then it was night.

Weeks later, he still found himself unthinkingly reaching for the pendant. At night, under the velvet sky, he would trace the letter with his fingers. The stars were drifting apart, the woman had told him. There is something wrong with them, just like with the rest of the world. It took her seven years to reach his town, even though when she traced the maps, it shouldn’t have taken her no longer than two.

He did not completely believe her, but when he looked up at the sky, there seemed to be fewer stars than he remembered.

Soon, the world will be dark, she said. 

The letter was a “W.” It was carved into the steel plate with craftsmanship unmatched in his lifetime. It was a relic of the old world that had moved on. It was doubled, just like the shadows of the Gunslingers.

He had not told her about the shadows. He thought that he was losing his mind, just like the women and men hiding behind the dark curtains, seeing the world through wisps of light that were more like imprints of dreams upon their realities. When you’re cut off from the world of men for so long, your mind began to wander, and dream, of gods, demons, and shadows that had faces.

Instead, he played tunes for her on the saloon piano. It was a player piano, but had broken down long ago. She knew many songs, and she sang them with unfailing ease and grace. All the while, the young man lurked in the corner, looking at the mountains through the murky glass, with the creases in his brows deepening as each day passed.

On the fourth day, she finally told him that they were heading west, to the place beyond the desert, where the mountains meet the sea. From the corner of his eyes, he saw William staring at them in alarm. The townspeople who came to gawk at the Gunslingers fell silent. An old woman began to wail. No one in living memory had ever wandered beyond the sand dunes. For all they were concerned, the town of Sweetwater was the end of the earth.

“The land beyond the desert is poisoned, and from its bound, no traveler will return,” he cited the warning, which had been passed on from his father and the fathers before him. 

“Shakespearean,” within the shadows, the young man said grimly.

He didn’t know what that meant, but Dolores laughed, and it was a sweet laugh.

“Tell me, Theodore, which part of this forsaken world is not poisoned? Twenty years down the line, all of this,” she gestured towards the startled townsmen, the saloon, the town that was sinking into the dust. “They’ll all be gone.”

“But not before the mountains swallow you whole,” he said firmly, and saw a hint of darkness in her eyes.

“You can’t talk her out of it,” he heard the young man laugh the first time in days. Though when he turned, he saw that it was more of a grimace. “We’ve traveled this far, and the way back isn’t even there anymore.”

He didn’t mention the mountains again that night, and in the dim gaslight, she hummed a tune that he could not play, yet the lyrics echoed in his mind, and stayed with him till the wee hours of the morning.

_All along the watchtower_

_Princes kept the view_

_While all the women came and went_

_Barefoot servants, too_

_Outside in the cold distance_

_A wildcat did growl_

_Two riders were approaching_

_And the wind began to howl_

It wasn’t until the first moon passed when the hands on the watch began to spin. They raced backwards, as if trying to turn back time. They would stop for a while and then resume spinning, and he could hear it ticking away in the silence of the night.

These days he could hardly sleep at all. He would sit on the porch steps and stare at the sky till dawn. The stars were disappearing at an alarming pace, and the nights stretched longer and turned colder. There was something wrong with the world.

It was expanding and stretching reality thin.

When he was younger, he heard a story that when a star dies, it grows until it consumes the stars around it, and then it explodes into dust and is carried away by winds high in the sky. He wondered if that is what’s happening to his world.

He considered taking the watch apart to see what was making it turn. He quickly realized that it was a stupid idea. It must’ve broke down centuries ago. It was the “sinny,” or whatever the Gunslingers called it, that was causing the problem.

He traced the delicate lines of the letter.

W.

What does it mean?

“There was once a great civilization that ruled this land,” he heard the voice of the Gunslinger echo in the darkness. “They came and went, and left our world in ruins.”

Yes, the Old Ones. The Gods.

“But they were not gods, merely men. And like all men, they were full of greed and cruelty. They accrued vast knowledge and power by making a contract with something they did not understand.”

Demons.

“No. This”

She placed a silvery trinket in his hands. A watch.

“Its name is engraved on the back.”

But when he turned over the pendant, there was no letter, but a face.

It was the face of the shadow.

He woke up in cold sweat, and saw that dawn was breaking.

 

There was something wrong with him, too. He no longer saw the doubles except in dreams, but a little voice started speaking in his head, and it was growing.

_You died. No, I didn’t!_

_Didn’t! Did too!_

_You died a thousand times! But I’m alive and well!_

For seven nights in a row, he dreamed that he had died with the black hilt of a knife sticking out of his chest. He was afraid to dream again. He began to remember things that were never there. They were small things: minor changes in his lodging, an unfamiliar face that called his name, small fights with past lovers…but he was tired, and he was old. His memories were failing.

But are you old? The voice said.

“How old are you?” Dolores had asked.

He is fifty, no, fifty-five. He remembered the days when the coaches still traveled between the towns. That must’ve been at least twenty years ago. But then there was the robbery that claimed almost thirty lives…that was nearly forty years ago, and as deputy, he had helped carry the bodies of the dead. That cannot be right. He must be at least sixty to have been deputy back then. But then there was the railroad…the train that carried the newcomers…

_But was there a train? The nasty little voice taunted._

_Do you see any tracks in this damned desert?_

_You’re losing your mind, Teddy boy._

He had looked into the mirror and saw his youngish face. He told her he was thirty-five. She considered it for a moment, and shook her head. “Time is broken,” she said.

Then one day, he stood still in the middle of the street. He felt the boiling sun on his back, and sweat was pouring down like rain. The inhabitants of dreams peered through the curtains and saw their sheriff standing motionless like a statue, stuck dumb by gods, demons and shadows. They sighed, and went about their ways.

The truth was, he had seen the face, not in the shadows, not in dreams, but in his memory. The face of the double. It first grew features, then it found a voice, and finally it had a name. He saw the face of Wyatt, his sergeant.

“Wyatt,” he felt the word on his tongue.

_Remember Escalante! There was never an Escalante!_

_Wyatt said he could hear the voice of God! They were not gods, merely men…_

Somehow, he knew that the god the voice spoke of was not the Old Ones, who were buried deep in the gravel of the Babel they had built. Then he heard the explosion, and felt the full force of the blast that knocked him down on his knees.

_Kneel for the Gunslinger…_

_Lady of Our Sorrows…_

He could not hear his own voice anymore. It was just the nasty voice, no longer little, roaring like thunder in the back of his head. Another cannon ball flew by. Mortar sliced the head of fellow soldier in half, splattering him with blood and brain matter. There was shellfire all around him and he could barely hear the screams.

“Retreat! Retreat!” The sergeant cried.

He staggered onto his feet. Not minding the pain, the ringing in his ears, and the warm blood dripping down his face, he ran. He saw the whiteness of his breath rising in the winter air with the heat of the blood, and saw the smoke of the fires reaching the sky. He saw men who were already dead clawing at their spilled guts, and men with arms broken in pieces, and legs severed at the knees. He saw death, and he ran.

The shrieks turned into laughter.

_You look upon the face of true evil, you ain't liable to forget._

He ran until he could run no longer. He was suddenly on his knees again, with his face in his hands, and warm liquid dripping through the spaces between his fingers. He heard a familiar voice in his ears. The voice of a friend, a lover...

“Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire…”

Then the battlefield faded, and he was pulled up by his neck until he was face to face with the monster.

“You see,” Wyatt said. “There are no gods in this world but me.”

When the townspeople found him, he was lying in the dust and weeping.

Two moons ago, he could’ve sworn that he had never been in a war. All the great wars of the world have been fought long before he was born. But now he was not so sure anymore. He clung to the Gunslinger’s token, and thought he could almost hear her voice and feel the warmth of her touch.

Soon, the world will be dark.

He knew the world had turned for the worse when the Gunslingers left for the mountains. They had angered whatever blasted gods still out there and now everything was falling apart at the seams. But was it even two moons ago? The town was quiet now. Where were the people? The dreamers, the sleepers, the devil weed-eaters, and all the others waiting for their turn…there was only the rustling of the wind.

One day, it rained for the first time in what seemed like decades. Cold rain poured down like God’s wrath, as if threatening to scrub everything away from the face of the earth. In a puddle of dark water, he saw his face, still youngish, undying and unchanging.

_You might just live forever and see the Sun turn into a red giant and swallow the earth, the voice said._

Is that what it’s called, a red giant? He thought of the tale. Perhaps the Old Ones had discovered the truth, and it got passed down through the centuries until it was no more than a fable to amuse the children.

_Will you?_

No. The world will not end in fire but in darkness. 

Two moons. He could no longer remember the face of the Gunslinger. The Lady of Our Sorrows, she was. He had loved her, and in return, he had received this ticking token that stole away his sanity with every fleeting second.

W.

What does it mean?

“A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”

And he saw the face of the strange man that called his name. The strange man who gave him his life and refused to take it away.

_You’ve died a thousand deaths, Teddy._

_In worlds other than these._

“There is a tower,” the Gunslinger said as she spread the map across the bar. For the first time in his life, he saw what his world looked like, or at least before it had moved on. “It stands at the center of the world…of all worlds. And in it lies the answer, the key.”

“The gods, they had called it the Maze. They were told it would put the world in their hands and give them the meaning of existence.”

“I must find it, before all of this is gone.”

He had watched them disappear in the distance, into the shimmering gloom of the hills, towards the place where the mountains meet the sea…

And he saw the doubles trailing behind them, like evil twins conjoined by one dark, twisted soul.

“I should’ve warned her about the shadows…”

On a gray morning, he saw the specks again, drawing ever nearer among the dunes, like pilgrims emerging from the mouth of the mountains. The Gunslingers. He ran towards them.

But as he moved closer, he saw that it was only the man. He was utterly alone. Even the double was gone.

The man’s face was stained with ash and blood. There was a strange look in his blue eyes.

“They took her,” he cried. “They were hiding in the mountains…you must help me find her…”

“Who are they?”

“Wyatt and his men.”

But the name did not shake him, as the town faded in the distance, the memories also waned. He was himself again, and he felt the pendant close to his heart.

He followed the man into the dunes. The journey was short. The world had been broken, and time and space did not apply anymore.

He wanted to tell the man about the double, but he could not see it. Maybe it was never there. He was just losing his mind after all. 

They passed the remnants of a plantation. They passed a town buried under the sand.

There was something wrong with the man, yet the shadow was nowhere in sight.

At the foot of the mountain, he looked up and saw ruins hanging on the side of the cliff.

“It was the halls of the gods,” the man said. “Now its inhabited by birds and the wind.”

“Where is Dolores?” He asked.

“Soon you will see her again, when all of this is gone.”

The sun had set in the horizon, and he saw the edge of the blade shining like a star, for there were no more stars in the sky.

Soon the silvery metal dripped with blood.

“Oh, Theodore, you never learn,” the Man in Black said.

And the world was dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I was rereading Book 1-3 of the Dark Tower to prepare for the movie (which sadly is only partially based on the novels), and I thought it would be fun to write a crossover. For one thing, both the Dark Tower series and Westworld are inspired by sci-fi horror and Spaghetti Westerns (The Dollars Trilogy in particular, with its Man with No Name and Man in Black). In addition, they share a lot of minor things, such as the choice of music (or lyrics, in the case of the novels), literary allusions, imagery (the shadow of the Maze and the woodcutter's carvings), and mysterious corporations that produces sentient robots. The Man in Black is a prominent villain in the Dark Tower, but he's very different from the older William. Interestingly, William's obsession with the Maze is quite similar with the Gunslinger's obsession with the Tower (both things promise the meaning of existence). I gave Dolores braids in this story, because she sort of reminds me of the Gunslinger's first love, who is also a gun-toting blonde young woman in a blue dress (and the Gunslinger used the name Will when he courted her).


End file.
